


Assistance

by aglarond



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Public Blow Jobs, Recreational Drug Use, Rutting, Semi-Public Sex, Shame, Shameless Smut, Smoking, Submission, Swearing, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25586605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aglarond/pseuds/aglarond
Summary: Thom Rainier knows he's no good for Lavellan, but maybe, with time, Warden Blackwall can be. All the same, for that space in between? A man has needs.-----AKA come see the parade of people Blackwall bones while he tries to keep his mind off boning Lavellan. Porn with the barest of plots. Tags and pairings will update with each new chapter.
Relationships: Blackwall | Thom Rainier/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall | Thom Rainier/Original Female Character(s), Blackwall | Thom Rainier/Original Male Character(s), Blackwall/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall/Inquisition Staff (Multi), Blackwall/Lavellan (Dragon Age), Blackwall/The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi/Blackwall
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	1. Never Stranger

“Well, thank you, Warden Blackwall. But now where does that leave us?”

His eyes went wide and he faltered. _Us? Surely she can’t mean_ — _Ah, the Inquisition, of course. Maker’s breath, get a grip, man._

But could there be an “us” in this? This Inquisition seemed worthy enough. And if the Wardens were in trouble, he definitely wanted to ride into that fight. But… could he really throw his lot in with a militia of strangers after so long on his own?

The Inquisition scout rolled her eyes from beneath heavy bangs and turned from him to leave, apparently out of time for the old man in the forest. He’d have to decide quickly if this adventure would be worth his while. And the risk.

_Oh, to the Void with it. There are worse mistakes to be made. At least this one has a worthy cause._

“Inquisition... agent, did you say? Hold a moment.” 

The elven woman turned to regard him, one eyebrow quirked up in question though she said nothing. 

Something in her face, fierce but placid, urged him forward before he knew what words spilled from his mouth. “The Divine is dead, and the sky is torn. Events like these… thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved.”

She eyed him closely, but said nothing, offering only a small nod of acknowledgement.

He pressed on, something in her dark eyes coaxing the words from his mouth. “If you’re trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden.” He grimaced. _Or perhaps whatever’s on hand will do._ “Maybe you need me.” 

A wide smile split her face and the sun shone out from it. Blackwall let out a small gasp of air. He… he quite liked that smile. 

“Warden Blackwall, the Inquisition accepts your offer.”

 _Maker. You’re in it now, Thom. No turning back_.

“Good to hear. We both need to know what’s going on, and perhaps I’ve been keeping to myself for too long.”

Her catlike eyes watched him closely and Blackwall had to remind himself not to squirm. But that intensity in her gaze… there was more to her than the simple elven scout she seemed.

“This Warden walks with the Inquisition.”

Smirking, the agent hummed once and held out her forearm. He reached out in kind, drawing closer as he grasped her arm against his and shook once, delighting in the touch even through both sets of armor. 

“Welcome. I am glad to have you, Blackwall.”

He was staring openly now, emboldened by her familiarity. His eyes quested over her pale cheek, supple with youth, to the freckles dusting the wide bridge of her nose and the subtle, sloping marks of her tattoos sweeping her cheeks and forehead.

Titters from the others in her party brought him back to his senses and he released her arm, breaking their fast.

“Ahem. Pray, my lady—I am at a loss. You know my name, but I do not know yours.”

“My name is Elonowen. Elonowen Lavellan. Though most call me Herald and you can do the same. The Elvhen names twist most shem’s tongues, it seems.”

He chuckled, his voice low. “I am not so easily overcome, my lady.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

The interest puttering in his core flamed, spiking into a hot and fresh want. _Steady. This woman will be your undoing, Thom, if you’re not careful_.

Blackwall kept his face calm and said nothing, not willing to show his hand so easily.

The scout resumed as if nothing had passed between them. “We leave for Haven at dawn after next. If you are true to your word, report to the upper lake camp just around the bend.” She turned to leave, gesturing for her party to follow before she called out over a shoulder. “Oh. And Blackwall?”

He hadn’t moved from the spot where she left, preoccupied as he was with watching her retreat. Caught, he shrunk slightly under her gaze. “My lady?”

“I don’t like to be disappointed.”

His stomach dropped even as her words fanned the flames in his core. He hoped neither showed in his face. He hoped he would be able to keep his word. 

“Understood, my lady.”

* * *

It was no difficult thing to find a serving girl ready for a tumble. With Redcliffe walled off, true taverns were hard to come by, though drink and wenches were a constant in the vicinity of any soldier’s outpost. Serving girls, too, it seemed. 

Blackwall made for one such encampment as soon as the Inquisition agent and her party moved on. The heat in his belly and the uncomfortable press of his armor against his cock wasn’t going to solve itself. And with less than two days until he saw her again, Blackwall intended to make good use of his time.

Sat in the corner of one such makeshift tavern—fashioned out of the half-charred remains of what had once been a barn, he guessed—he eyed his prospects. Everyone in this tavern had the drawn out look of too much destruction in their lives paired with too little food in their bellies. The barmaids were better off; Three or four of them whizzed around the room, attending to their various patrons. There weren’t any true lookers among them, but that was of little matter.

Blackwall made eye contact with one of them, a youthful brunette, gesturing for her to come over. Her eyes flicked to him briefly, then back over her shoulder. He watched as she called out to one of the others, jerking her head in his direction. Another shout and a different, older woman made her way to his corner of the room.

Not older. Closer to his own age, he thought bitterly.

She was a sturdy woman, blonde with broad shoulders, soft hips and middle suggesting maybe a couple of children to speak of at home. Blackwall couldn’t see her ass from this angle, but he suspected it drooped. He frowned slightly, mourning the lost prospect of an enthusiastic fuck with one of the younger barmaids. But her face was sweet, her mouth was rosy, and he knew she would look well enough panting beneath him.

“What can I get you, ser?” She asked without looking at him, pulling at the rag at her waist to wipe down the table while he gave his order.

He stopped her, draping his hand over hers. Looking up into her face, his voice low and gravelly, he asked in no uncertain terms if she cared to go to bed with him. After a fashion.

The plump barmaid put a hand to her hip as she eyed him. "What? You up for it, love?"

 _Oh, now that’s interesting_.

Blackwall let a mischievous smile curl his lips. “If you’re of a mind.”

“I can do you one better. I’m on break next.”

*****

For all her homely looks, the woman made up for it in enthusiasm. She led Blackwall round the back of the tavern among the crates and barstock and pounced on him as soon as they were out of sight. She was all hot hands and tongue and he was pleasantly surprised to have misjudged her.

Notes of sour ale and sweat and work, honest work, met Blackwall’s senses and he felt the stirrings in his breeches as his desire returned. He rutted his hips against her, groaning at the friction as he gripped her middle tighter. She turned his head to the side to lave at his neck, trailing wet kisses down as far as his collar would allow before licking back up to trace around the shell of his ear. Her tongue swirled in the center and Blackwall exhaled deeply, shuddering at the sensation. 

He needed this. He couldn’t explain it but… he needed to clear his head. And in all his years alone from his reckless youth to his self-exile, Blackwall had never known a better way to clear his head than through a woman’s warm cunt.

The barmaid drug her hands through his hair, pulling at its length and Blackwall growled, his mouth seeking hers. He needed more of her. But she evaded him, leaning back and smiling wickedly. He huffed in frustration, eyes dark with want.

She laughed then and Blackwall felt a flash of anger in his belly. Was she toying with him?

“All right, all right. Steady, big boy, I know what you want.”

With a final nip at his chin, the barmaid dropped to her knees in front of him. She made quick work of the laces in his breeches and his cock nodded free as she pulled back the fabric. Her eyes followed it as it bobbed, an eager smile on her face.

“Oh, _hello_.”

Blackwall couldn’t suppress a self-satisfied smirk. Whether she meant it or was saying so for his sake, he didn’t much care. 

He wasn’t yet fully aroused, so she wet her palm with her tongue and reached for him, squeezing and pulling and twisting on his length with a practiced hand to bring him to full arousal.

Blackwall’s mind wandered as she worked.

What, in Maker’s name, was he getting into with this Inquisition, he asked himself. If the Wardens were in trouble, then surely, he was honor-bound to help. And still… was he a fool for throwing in his lot with a bunch of strangers? After all this time of anonymity, wasn’t it too great a chance to take? Or was he simply a coward unwilling to risk his neck?

But this wasn’t so strange. Ever since Callier, it just made sense to maintain as few attachments as possible. And that went for everything: friends, colleagues, possessions... and especially women. 

Yet somehow, he just signed his life away to an upstart militia flying under the Chantry’s banner. And for what? A pair of fine eyes?

Soft laps at his cockhead drew his attention back down. He watched as the barmaid pressed soft, lush kisses to the tip as it rested heavy on her chin. She looked to him, darting the point of her tongue to lap at the beads of come resting at his slit, the very picture of depravity beneath him. He took a sharp breath in, his balls tightening as she took him into her mouth, never breaking eye contact. Closing his eyes, Blackwall had never been happier to be proven wrong about a person. 

_What is it about her?_

He couldn’t shake her.

Something about that elven Inquisition scout from earlier had lodged in his brain and he hadn’t been able to shift her from it. He’d always been a fan of dark eyes. Hers were no exception with that frame of straight black hair and the dusting of freckles. Even those tattoos held promise. 

He wondered what it would be like to trace those tattoos with his fingers. What kind of sounds—what was her name? Elan-Elonowen? What kind of sounds Elonowen would make when he traded his fingers for his tongue, exploring the contours of her face and neck and beyond, finding out just how far those tattoos went below her armor?

His daydream shattered as he felt the barmaid's nails dig into the backs of his thighs through his breeches. He thought to say something, but the words died on his tongue as her throat opened to him and she took his full length into her hot mouth. 

The spool of need in his groin tightened at the shock. Blackwall nearly spent at that moment and dug his nails into his palms, thrumming one fist against the wall to distract himself from the edge. Any more of her mouth and he wouldn’t last to taste the rest of her. He chanced a moment longer, reluctant to part from her velvety heat with his cock still buried to the hilt, her soft tongue still lapping at him. But this wasn’t what he came for. 

With enormous effort he pushed her away, groaning at the loss of heat.

Smirking, she rose from her knees and scooted back to sit on one of the wooden crates crowding the space behind the barn. Blackwall followed her with his eyes but stayed still against the wall to steady himself. The barmaid gathered her skirts, teasing as she brought them up slowly around her waist, baring her sex. Blackwall felt his last shreds of self-control leave him as he stared at her dripping cunt. She curled a finger to him in invitation. 

He didn’t need to be told twice. 

His mouth was on her, lapping at her wetness and teasing her folds with his tongue as he crouched in front of her. His knees screamed at the angle and though he’d pay for it later, right now he couldn’t get enough. Reaching his arms under soft thighs, Blackwall drew her into him, nudging her legs over his shoulders as he dove his tongue back into her heat. She ground her sex into his face and Blackwall felt his thoughts clearing as he focused on the task at hand.

Her slick was everywhere, coating his lips and chin and beard and Blackwall knew it would take days to wash her scent from him fully. He groaned into her cunt at the thought, redoubling his efforts. Her hips bucked, fingers threading through his hair as her movements became more erratic. Taking note, Blackwall changed tactics. Spreading her open with his thumb and forefinger, he alternated suckling and licking at her clit as she shook beneath him, the fresh stream of obscenities from her mouth only egging him on as he stimulated her to a pitch of euphoria. 

Pulling his head back to better see his prize, Blackwall brought a hand up and started to tease two fingers around her entrance, desperate for more of her. But the barmaid’s hand came down to stop him, batting away at his fingers.

“No. No time for all that,” she said breathlessly. “Get on with it.”

Frowning slightly, Blackwall got back to his feet. Perhaps he did get a bit carried away.

No matter.

Standing in front of her with one hand on her hip, Blackwall pumped at his cock, returning it to form before lining up with her slit. He paused, looking into her face.

“You ready?”

She moaned, nodding furiously as her hands scrabbled at his jacket.

He chuckled. “I’m going to need to hear you say it, love.”

“Fuck me already! Andraste’s tits! If you don’t fuck me right now, you fucking bastard, I swear I’ll—”

 _That’ll do_. 

Guiding just the tip of his cock into her heat, Blackwall grabbed the barmaid’s other hip, paused and then thrust home, sheathing himself in her in one deft thrust. She keened, arching her back into the thrust and he saw stars. 

_Maker’s balls, how long has it been?_

Long enough and not. As his eyesight began to clear and Blackwall chanced a few first movements. He pulled back from the barmaid, starting with a few shallow pumps, careful not to overwhelm either of them. She moaned at the movement and Blackwall thrust deeper, watching her face for direction. The spool of desire in his belly was fully alight now and pulsing with every pump of his cock into her hot, velvety sheath. But he needed more. 

Blackwall grabbed at the front of her dress, dragging rough fingers through the laces to free her breasts from their bodice. He palmed at one, keeping the other hand fixed at her waist as he pumped a steady rhythm into her cunt. Her breath came in gasps as he flicked and pinched at a nipple. His thrusts were faster now, plunging deeper into her core with every pass, goaded by her soft pants and mewls underneath him. Just like he wanted.

He slapped at her tit, reveling in the loud smack and the yelp of surprise that spilled from her lips. She brought a hand to play with her other breast, flicking and pinching at the nipple and he gave her a roguish smile. He was near his release now. Picking up the pace, he dug his fingers in at her hip, pumping wildly. Not one to be left behind, the barmaid brought the hand at her breast to her sex and began circling her nub with two fingers, chasing her own orgasm. 

She finished with a keening yowl and clenched around him as Blackwall drove into her with a few last sputtering strokes. The strength of his orgasm caught him off guard as he spilled hot seed into her, still pumping slowly into her tight heat to milk the last of the spend from his cock. For a few precious moments he was boneless, his brain quiet and muscles warm. Then the barmaid started to shift beneath him and Blackwall knew the moment had passed.

He pulled away from her, gasping at the cold air. The maid produced a cloth—the same bar rag from before—and sopped up some of their mess on her before handing it to him to do the same. Blackwall grunted his thanks, wiping roughly at the most offending stains before gently replacing his softening cock in his breeches.

“Well,” she started as she hopped down from the crate, righting her skirts and primping her mussed hair. “If you’re ever of a mind to go again... You’ll know where to find me.” She winked and moved to go inside.

“Wait—”

The barmaid faltered, eyeing him cautiously.

“Yo-your bodice, it’s...uhm.” He motioned awkwardly at her partially exposed chest.

The confusion on her face melted into mirth as she noted her mistake. Smiling, she tucked herself back into her bodice and laced the front of her dress. Without another word, she leaned in to press a chaste kiss to his cheek and slipped back into the tavern, leaving him alone in the back alley. 

_Well_.

Blackwall looked around at the horizon. Not much sunlight left now. The tavern would soon be full with all the farmers, farriers and craftsmen looking to soothe the aches of a long day at work. Or otherwise bury their pains. 

_Hmm. Maybe a farmhand next._


	2. Spare a Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall's preoccupation with Lavellan is more persistent than he anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter! Chopped it up to make it a bit more digestible.

It was astounding how quickly she had grown to consume his thoughts.

He'd dreamt of her that very first night after they met, the serving girl's scent under his nose and Lavellan's sonorous voice still playing in his ear and woke to a cock heavy and weeping its need on his abdomen. Blackwall was surprised, no doubt, but not alarmed; it wasn’t unheard of for him to form a speedy attachment to a person, dally with them in his thoughts, and then lose interest after a spell. Still, the shame wore on him the rest of the day. If he was going to join the Inquisition and play his role as Warden Blackwall straight, it wouldn’t serve to have any distractions. However… enticing they might be.

_No! Damnit, Thom, this is serious. The Wardens are very likely in trouble and you’re worried about diddling a scout. Disgusting... Just this once, try to think and act beyond your own needs._

It was settled, then. His focus would be the Wardens, as it always had been, and as it should be. And besides—it was likely the memory of the serving girl’s slick still wet on his cock that brought on this unexpected fervor. I-it would pass soon enough.

But his plight only worsened since he first reported the lake camp to accompany them back to Inquisition headquarters. The knowledge that “Herald” was no mere honorific, but shorthand for the actual _Herald of Andraste_ , a Fade-walking de facto leader of the extranational Inquisition militia took him aback like a charging bronto to the chest; yet, to his mounting chagrin, rather than deflating the rise in his breeches, it only urged him on further. Before they even reached Haven, the lady already graced his dreams nightly—teasing mostly, nothing untoward, though the effect it had on his body was the same come sunrise. On the road back from Haven, he tried falling to rest later and waking earlier, willing his body to tire and free his mind from these dreams, but to no avail. His waking mind was being driven mad as his duty warred with his bodily response to her frequent proximity all while his sleeping mind relented to her every whim, begging her to reciprocate his desires. 

It was less than a fortnight into their adventures before dream-teasing was abandoned entirely and Elonowen claimed him, scorching in her need for him. And suddenly Blackwall knew peace again, sleeping soundly through the night only to start the process anew the next day.

Thankfully, Blackwall was still fully capable of performing his Warden duties in service of the Inquisition—things had not progressed to such a pitch where that was in question—though only just.

He supposed he should be grateful that she so obviously valued his presence in her adventuring party to bring him along again and again. The Herald was, frankly, dazzling: strong of mind and body, dutiful, and yet brimming with a good-natured vulgarity and earthy humor he hadn’t expected of her based on their stern first meeting. Blackwall was in awe of her, relishing every moment spent at her side—or guarding her flank—as they traipsed through the Hinterlands addressing the unheard needs of every common man, woman, and child they happened upon. She was rare, this one, and Blackwall wouldn’t trade his place at her side, or shielded in front between her and danger, for any other. 

But the Herald was a vigorous woman, the like he had never seen before, and being in the presence of such enthusiasm had... unintended consequences.

The dreams he could manage. To be sure, waking in his bedroll to a surprise puddle of his own spend harkened back to a time of his youth he’d rather forget… but he was handling it. More or less. No, the real trouble started their first day back in the Hinterlands when she asked him to guard the party’s rear as they wended through the tight corners of the Witchwood. Ever dutiful, he obliged, only partially spurred by the promise of an unrestricted view if her pert ass in tight leathers. It was his own fault, a lapse in judgement as well as chivalry, letting his nighttime desires first slip into the light of day. And it cost him dearly. From then on it grew—considerably—and what started as a whisper in his groin as he eyed her trim backside turned into a parade of insistent, aching hard-ons so consistent, he could almost use them to recall the time of day.

Heady dreams of her still plagued his sleep each night at camp, and Blackwall grew accustomed to the weight of his cock, heavy with need, on his abdomen when he woke. This new, apparently permanent development and the decidedly unwelcome presence of a tentmate while camped at permanent Inquisition installations—and usually Varric or Solas, at that—spurred him to don bedclothes for the first time in years and begrudgingly push any thoughts of early morning release far from his mind. With practice and some gentle chiding, he had usually receded by breakfast.

She had surprised him just once so far, emerging from her tent late one morning still fumbling with the side laces of her breeches, a small stretch of thigh and jut of hip bone still visible around the band of her small clothes. His body reacted immediately, and though he looked away quickly—both to give her the privacy she seemed blithely unconcerned with and to save his own sanity—a smirk from the dwarf told him his reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed. As his blush spread from his nose to his navel, Blackwall had never been happier with his decision to grow a beard.

But his troubles didn’t stop there. At midmorning, his agony would invariably return, the purse of her lips and ring of her laughter as she traded bawdy jokes with Varric sending him into a silent frenzy. Midday was the worst as Lavellan drank greedily from her waterskin, head tipped back as rivulets of clear liquid ran down her cheek and chin, chasing away the blood and grime from her pale skin. Or was it the way her lips parted ever so slightly as she listened for the telltale signs of another ambush just around the bend? Though the glint of sweat on her neck was just as distracting. Even the twist of her dagger into an enemy’s heart was strangely alluring—that one was confounding, even to him. These and a hundred other little things converged to push Blackwall ever closer to the edge of sanity until it was all he could do to maintain his outward calm.

It was almost a mercy on those days he lost control, spending into his breeches after an extended fit of pique. The sticky discomfort concealed within his armor was a small price to pay for a moment of fucking peace.

But by the end of most days on the road, Blackwall persisted, even though he had worked himself into such a state where he couldn't join his companions in the circle round the fire—at least not immediately—lest his body betray him. Instead, on those numerous treks through the Hinterlands, Blackwall had adopted a convenient lie to help hide the physical effects of a day’s worth of pent-up lust. Excusing himself to “patrol the camp perimeter” and ensure their surroundings were free of both bandits and darkspawn usually did the trick, though he bungled the first occasion.

***

“And where are you off to, Hero?”

 _Shit._ The damned dwarf was too perceptive by half and quieter than his size would suggest. Blackwall swiveled to look and found the entire party—Elonowen, Varric and Solas—staring at him, caught red-handed and mid-step in his escape. _Double shit._ Blackwall sent a quick blessing of thanks to Andraste that his tasset and fald covered the now straining erection in his breeches as he scrambled for something to say.

“Ahhh… I’m, uhh… going to scout the area.”

Blackwall gulped at the deadpan look Varric shot him. “You’re going to… scout the area.”

“Aye. Can’t wait to see if bandits crop up in the middle of the night.”

“Let me know if I’m off base here, Hero, but wouldn’t that fall under the role of—oh, I don’t know—a scout?”

 _Sod it. You’ve stepped in it now, Thom_. 

“Well…," he faltered, searching for a response. "Call it an old Warden habit. Better to take the offensive. Vigilance and what’s for..." Maker's balls, he wasn't making any sense.

Varric seemed to agree. He arched an eyebrow and supplied a thoroughly unconvinced, “Uh huh…” 

The Herald chimed in and Blackwall’s heart jumped into his throat. “Varric’s right, you know. The scouts will worry about all that.” Her tone was final but not unkind. “Come and sit, Blackwall. We’ll have supper ready soon.”

Blackwall suppressed a scoff. Stiff as he was, he wouldn’t make it two faltering steps without them finding him out. It was time for greater stakes.

_Fuck it._

"Ahh… well, yes, they'll see about the bandits. But what about... the darkspawn?" 

The camp went quiet except for the crackle of the campfire. Varric’s eyes narrowed as he tilted his neck; Elonowen squinted at him, smiling in silent confusion; Solas remained quiet, his face politely thoughtful, if uninterested. Several tense moments passed and Blackwall willed his face to remain impassive just in case his bold choice had been the right one. 

Varric spoke first, slicing through the tension with a chuckle, his hands raised in feigned submission. "Okay, I'll admit, I don't have as much experience with darkspawn as you, Hero. But based on all the minor shit we handle daily, if there was news about darkspawn in the Hinterlands, I think we would know about it."

A sharp laugh split the air and Elonowen’s voice wafted over from beside the campfire. “Creators, I'd trade darkspawn for this mage-templar bollocks any day.”

Varric chuckled and called over his shoulder at the Herald, “You and me both, Boss,” before turning back to Blackwall, a frown set in his face. “But back to you—Have you actually seen any? Darkspawn, that is. I mean, hey—I’m no expert—but, in my experience? Darkspawn aren’t subtle.”

Blackwall’s shoulders tensed. His paper-thin patience was already strung tight from his preoccupation with the Herald. But for all his frustration with the current conversation, his erection hadn’t flagged in the slightest, still straining insistently against his armor. And now the dwarf thought to question him? It was too much.

Before he could stop himself, Blackwall's eyes flicked to the Herald; she was still knelt by the fire, but any pretense of her cooking supper was thoroughly abandoned as she watched him and Varric face off, her eyes dancing in the orange firelight and a whisper of a smile playing at her lips. The heat in Blackwall’s belly flared. Maker. If he didn’t make a stand now, he’d never have a quiet moment to tend to the strain in his smalls. This had already gone on too long.

Turning back to Varric, he asked sharply, “You’d rather I wait until they stumble into camp, I take it?”

“Hm, touchy.”

Solas piped up then. “I was under the impression that Grey Wardens could sense the presence of darkspawn from a distance. 

_Oh, for fuck’s sake. Now the mage has something to say._ Blackwall suppressed the urge to drag his still gauntlet-clad hand down his face.

“W-well… it’s based on proximity, isn’t it? You have to be within a certain range to detect the spawn or… it won’t, uhm, work.” _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ He cleared his throat. “Anyways, it’s not an exact science. It’s more of a… feeling. Thing.” _Oh, bugger it all_.

Solas tipped his head to the side, his eyes narrowed as he tried to piece something together in his mind. Blackwall scarcely breathed until the mage flashed a small smile, finally relenting with a flourish of his hand at his side. “As you say.”

 _About time_. He turned to Varric, almost daring the dwarf to start another line of questioning with the deepest frown he could muster splayed across his bearded face. He must look more fearsome than he remembered, as the dwarf threw up his hands with a mumbled, “All right, fine—go… save us, or whatever,” and took his rest next to the campfire.

With one final questioning glance to Elonowen - “ _Come back soon, I guess?”_ \- and a great heaving sigh, Blackwall was off, bumbling awkwardly down the path from camp to find a secluded place to drain his cock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know in the comments if you enjoyed any particular bits. Also, let me know if you have requests? There's at least another 30,000 words to go in this thing so I'm sure I can fit your pairing or scene request in somewhere in there.


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